I'll cast better yet.

SIR JOHN.
Then I'll be hanged. Sirra, hast thou not given thy soul to
the devil for casting?


KING.
I pass for all.

SIR JOHN.
Thou passest all that e'er I played withal.
Sirra, dost thou not cog, nor foist, nor slur?

KING.
Set, parson, set; the dice die in my hand:
When parson, when? what, can ye find no more?
Already dry? wast you bragged of your store?

SIR JOHN.
All's gone but that.

HUNTINGTON.
What? half a broken angel?

SIR JOHN.
Why sir, tis gold.

KING.
Yea, and I'll cover it.